


heathens

by aslightstep



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Multi, the relationships are nebulous at best, the suicide squad au that nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-13 03:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7960483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aslightstep/pseuds/aslightstep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You've seen the news. You've seen Sokovia. Relying on the Ultimates to solve all our problems is a dangerous gamble. They're powerful, influential, and most importantly, completely out of our control. If even one of them decides to turn on us we are hopelessly, hilariously outgunned."</p><p>"And this is the alternative, Director Fury?"</p><p>"It's called the Avengers Initiative. It's meant to bring together a group of very bad people to see if they can become something more. To fight the battles that we never can for us, the battles that can't - maybe even shouldn't - be won. To do some good."</p><p>Suicide Squad AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i started a joke

**Author's Note:**

> Yes. Yes. It is that time. It is....a Suicide Squad AU. Just to establish some background that will get more thoroughly explained later on: many of the members are deaged in this bit. Tony is back down to around 37 as is Rhodey, Bruce is around 35, Hawkeye about 30. Basically, they are back to where they were when the MCU began plus some, so Natasha and Steve should be about right. 
> 
> The 'Ultimates' such as they are consist of the Wasp, Ant-Man, Black Panther, and the Maximoff twins. Other heroes might be mentioned, but it will be in a different context.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the worst of the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I have this story outlined, a first for me, and I intend to put everything I've written into every chapter, so they might end up hella long. This should be somewhat fun, I'm excited! I hope you all like it.

Nicholas Fury was many things. Ruthless. Efficient. Deadly and intelligent. Patient. His qualities, positive or negative or both, could be enumerated in the thousands. He had a lot of time and wore a lot of faces to amass them over the years as a member of SHIELD.

Kindness, however, would never be listed among them.

As he waited, aggravated, for his right hand man to bring him the docket that contained what he believed to be the future of this planet's ongoing security, he flicked through the news stations, watching as one after another condemned the so-called Ultimates for their actions in taking down the rogue artificial intelligence Ultron that had lifted the capital city of the Sokovia five thousand feet into the sky, intent on using it as a natural nuke to destroy the earth. Fury couldn't help the joyless smirk that crossed his face; Margaret Carter had warned Henry Pym years ago about messing around with AI but the poor son-of-a-bitch had gone a bit mad after Janet died and apparently had set about recreating her through robotics. But no one could have ever predicted that it would be his even-tempered daughter Hope that would continue his work. She and the new Ant-Man had messed with forces they didn't understand and Eastern Europe had paid the price - the Ultimates hadn't been able to stop the city's fall in time.

The tide that the Ultimates had individually been swimming against for so long had turned even stronger against them when they came together as a team. Wakanda was facing all kinds of sanctions when the Panther's shipment of vibranium to the Wasp was discovered, the USA was trying their damnedest to get the Maximoff twins into some kind of contract, Scott Lang was facing another ten year sentence in prison, and Pym Industries' stock was in a free-fall. 

Of all the things Nicholas Fury could be accused of, kindness was not one of them. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for.

The door opened. "You're late," Fury said without turning around. He received no reply, something he had become used to over the past few months, and waved a hand at the agent. He approached, dropped the binder in front of Fury, and stood by, awaiting order.

THE AVENGERS INITIATIVE, the binder blared in large block print. "Are we good for tonight?" he asked, reaching forward to pull the binder towards him. For years, he had been building this, and now it was all coming together. It had galled him to rely on the Ultimates and their outrageous power and their instability to save them, but now he had a chance to change that. Helping rehab a couple of criminals would keep those soft-hearted politicians from nipping at his heels for at least a few years as well. It was a win-win situation all around.

"Yessir. Senator Stern and General Ross called to confirm this morning. Dr. Foster says she believes the trickster has finally accepted his role and will play the part." The agent's voice was even, a bit too deliberately, and Fury finally deigned to look up and see the slightly sour tilt to the other man's mouth.

"Still having doubts about this, Agent Coulson?" 

Phil's frown deepened even further. "I never stopped, sir." Phil was an old-fashioned type, though. He still believed in heroes. He had seen the agent's file, pictures all the way back to his childhood, a gap-toothed little boy proudly holding Captain America's shield high into the sky. Fury would have thought Coulson would have learned his lesson when that boyhood idolization had been so thoroughly tarnished, but Coulson was stubborn, too. 

Fury surveyed him, then flicked his one good eye to the side dismissively, and Coulson nodded sharply before turning on his heel to leave. "Agent Coulson," he called out when the man's hand touched the doorknob. "How's Daisy these days?"

Coulson was too good at what he did to let his shoulders tense or his fists clench but it was all there in the subtle furrow at his brow when Coulson turned his face profile to look at Fury out of the corner of his eye. "You'd know better than me, sir."

Without waiting for a reply, Coulson opened the door and left, shutting it very firmly behind him. Fury rolled his eye. So dramatic that one. Daisy Johnson was just fine, cheerfully making overtures to the Inhuman that had sprung up recently and declared herself 'queen,' excited to meet others like her. Really, she was better off this way, and the sooner Coulson realized this the better.

He turned back to the task at hand, flicking open the binder, past the pages documenting the manipulative powers of the crystal they had recovered in a Scandinavian cave and onto the first member of his new team. The one he had been keeping his eye on for years, waiting for the moment to strike.

Tony Stark's picture smiled sardonically back at him, a secret hidden all along the seam of his lips and the sparkle of his eye. Fury snorted. Let Tony Stark think he had power; in truth, he was by far the easiest of his assets to control.

* * *

 

> ANTHONY EDWARD STARK  
>  05-29-1973  
>  ALIAS: EDWARD CARBONELL  
>  CODENAME: IRON MAN  
>  STATUS: INCARCERATED, ACTIVE 2005-2010  
>  EXPERT IN ROBOTICS AND DEMOLITIONS. GENIUS LEVEL INTELLECT.  
>  FLUENT IN EIGHT LANGUAGES.  
>  SUSPECTED TO HAVE BEEN KILLED SEVEN YEARS AGO IN AFGHANISTAN  
>  RESURFACED UNDER ALIAS AS A CORPORATE ASSASSIN. MAIN TARGET SUSPECTED TO BE STANE INDUSTRIES CEO, OBADIAH STANE  
>  INSTIGATOR OF THE THIRTY-NINE TRAGEDY 
> 
> _Anthony Stark, son of famed weapons manufacturer Howard Stark, is currently incarcerated in the Raft, serving several life sentences. Iron Man's threat level is HIGH. Stark's is higher. Do not verbally engage, keep his cell stripped clean of anything that can be made into a weapon._

Tony shifted his backpack to a more comfortable position for him to lean on as he watched the vehicles slowly travel down the street, laughing at the ostentatious procession. Only Justin Hammer would be stupid enough to make himself even more of a target while protecting himself from people like Tony.

"Dad?" Harley's voice was confused and a little hurt, and Tony cursed himself.

"I promise you, kid, you have my full attention." He was just here to make sure the job went down as it was supposed to. If not, he had the gauntlet ready to go. "Just something caught my eye on the TV. Now tell me about this experiment? I still say you should have built the potato gun."

"Me, too, but Mom said no more WMDs in the apartment," Harvey grumbled, and Tony grinned even though no one but JARVIS could see it. 

"She's still so dramatic," he murmured, a little lance of pain through his heart killing his grin quickly. "She doing alright? How's the new boyfriend?"

He could practically hear his son's attempt at a nonchalant shrug. "He's nice. You could come see her yourself, you know? She misses you. I think she's forgiven you. And it'd be nice, you know, family dinners and stuff? Normal? You know normal, right, Dad?"

"Kiddo, if you ever knew your grandfather you would not be asking that question." Tony watched as Hammer's convoy turned down the alley to the safehouse they were leading Hammer to. Fish in a barrel. "Nice guilt trip, by the way."

"I do my best," Harley said softly. "We really do miss you, Dad."

He didn't doubt Harley did. Tony had to be the world's shittiest father; in an ironic twist, that was mostly because he was trying to be a better one. He had to keep Harley safe from his enemies. And Tony Stark had a lot of enemies. Not the very least in Obadiah Stane, whom Harley's mother Rebecca would happily sell Tony out to in a second the moment he stepped back into their Staten Island apartment.

She hadn't always hated him this much. Rebecca had once been the light of his life, the one person he had ever met that hadn't taken a second look when he held out his prosthetic hand for her to shake, who hadn't blinked at his last name that didn't have the money or education to match. She had accepted all of him, good and bad, and when he found out she was pregnant with Harley it was the happiest moment of his life. 

Then she found out about his job and suddenly the bad outweighed the good. She wanted to take Harley and run, but Tony wouldn't let anybody keep him from his kid. He was good at his job and he got rid of a lot of shady people who deserved it; he put food on the table and money in her bank account. He even let Harley have her last name to keep him safe. But there were pictures still sitting on his hard drive somewhere of her meeting Stane at some rundown burger joint.

He didn't know if she started conspiring with Stane before or after the man sent him on the operation in Afghanistan to take out a competitor that ended up being a suicide mission rigged to get Tony killed, and all in all he no longer cared. He had walked out of the cave with a reactor in his chest, a weaponized prosthetic, a dead doctor, and a new purpose. Stane was besmirching his legacy with his double-dealing and that alone would be enough for Tony to plant a bomb under his desk, but now he had tried to kill Tony. Now he had knew about Harley.

Tony returned to a world that thought he was dead and more people happy about that fact that he had anticipated. Enemies in every corner, waiting to turn him over to Stane. Tony Stark had never been much approved of, the black spot on the Stark name ever since he blew his hand off in a lab accident when he was seven and his father wrote him off as useless. Obie had been the one to fight for Tony, see his real potential and put him to work, and together they had taken down more than a few of Stark Industries' opponents. But he supposed he had finally outgrown his usefulness. He stayed in the shadows, only meeting with Rebecca once, a horrible experience that ended up with Harley in tears and Tony covered in blood from the bottle she had smashed over his head. After that he crept even further into the dark, plotting and waiting and planning. For exactly this moment.

His flesh hand itched to run his fingers through his son's hair. For Harley, he promised, as Hammer stepped out of his car. "JARV?"

" _Of course, sir."_

The discreet, untraceable bombs he had place along the door right as Hammer passed through, sending out dozens of tiny lasers that cut the man to ribbons instantly. His men shouted, guns up and looking around, but it was already done. "Good work."

" _For you, sir, always."_

"Dad?"

Tony stood, heading to the ledge so he could propel himself over to the next building and head down. "We see each other every week, Harley."

"That's not good enough!" 

"I know," he conceded softly. "I know it's not, and I - I am sorry, Harley, please believe me. I know I've been utter crap at this, but that's all going to change soon." Harley was silent for a very long time, which was not the reaction Tony was hoping for. At least one 'hurray' wasn't too much to ask for, was it? 

"I know you do bad things, Papa." Jesus, Harley hadn't called him Papa since he was four. Tony's heart clenched. "Mom says you always have. She says you can't change."

He gritted his teeth. "And you?"

"I dunno. You're my dad," Harley muttered. "I love you. I want to believe you. I want you to change."

"I will, I promise," Tony lied. He wasn't the one changing; he was gonna be the one making changes. Bombs were nice and loud and so very fun but murder was messy and getting less and less effective in this stupid new millenium filled with hyper competent yuppies always willing to fill an empty position with twice the smarts and for half the pay of whatever old crusty white guy Tony knocked off. He had to go to the source. He'd no longer settle for murdering Obie; he wanted to make him suffer for the years Tony spent in hiding, sneaking around to see his son. He had to destroy his life from the inside out, starting with the company he had built off of Tony's secret designs. "And I love you, too. I have to go, kiddo. See you on Friday?" He should be awake by then. If not, he'd be dead.

He hung up with Harley and disassembled the armor into it's neat little briefcase. "JARV, get me Killian."

Moments later, an oily voice oozed over the line. "Is the job done?"

"Of course. Hammer's in so many pieces they can bury him in a breadbox," Tony said. "Now it's time to hold up your end of the bargain."

That night he fiddled with the last few adjustments to the Extremis virus, praying to a God he had never believed in that this would work. He laid down on a table and Maya Hansen hovered over him, needle in hand, gleam in her eyes.

"You're not keeping my work," he told her. The deal was to murder Hammer for edging in on AIM's territory.

"I've already saved it," Maya said smugly. "You're gonna change the world, Tony."

Yes, he would. And if this worked out, he could delete that save and any copies she had with a wink of his eye.

When he woke, JARVIS' voice was in his head and he could feel the circuits of his prosthetic like his own nerves. The arc reactor glowed so brightly he thought it might explode and as Tony reached, he felt it filter into his head. Satellites and phone calls and the programs and systems, the zeros and ones that had replaced his blood and his veins. Maya and Killian watched him stand, wide-eyed.

"Thanks for the level up," he told the scientist with a grin. "I'd love to experiment but I've got a date."

In his lab he and JARVIS tested the equipment he had built for this outcome to make sure it worked and Tony donned his new undersuit with glee, watching the circuitry woven into the fabric hum to life with a barely visible glow, turning the new armor waiting in the corner on and off with his mind. This power was glorious; he couldn't wait to test it out. Maybe when all this was done and Tony Stark was finally on top where he belonged, he'd take Iron Man out for a spin, teach a few Ultimates a lesson. 

He and Harley met every Friday at a dark corner in Central Park, his kid equipped with enough weaponry to take out a small army to keep him safe on the trip there, plus the Rottweiler Tony had bought Rebecca when Harley was three, ironically named Happy. "Dad!" Harley screeched at seeing him, running towards him like he always did. Every week, without fail, Harley always reacted with surprise that Tony kept his promise and showed up. Tony hated himself every time. He was the worst. 

"Kid!" Tony bent down as he did every week even though Harley was too tall for it now, and his son collided into his arms. Harley had always had a particular scent ever since he was a baby: metal and coconut. Tony breathed it in deep and sighed happily; he was finally home again. "You're getting too big. If you end up taller than me I swear I'm hitting up Ant-Man and shrinking you."

"You're so weird," Harley giggled, and they meandered over to their park bench, Harley trying to show him his plans for the science fair until they both got bored and started drawing out the schematics for Potato Gun Mark II.

Tony was so caught up in the moment that he didn't realize what was happening until Happy began growling. He whirled, glove-covered gauntlet coming up on instinct, and felt the blood drain from his face.

There stood Wanda Maximoff. "They told me you had a son," she said, her accent making the words harsh. "They said you loved him. I didn't believe them. Iron Man doesn't have a heart to love."

"Scarlet Witch!" Harley said excitedly before the tension in the air caught up to him and he looked at his father worriedly.

"I don't know who you think I am, but you're very much mistaken," Tony said evenly, rising from the bench and stepping in front of his son. Maximoff's eyes flicked between Tony's face and his still-upraised hand, amused. Tony cursed, curling the hand into a fist but not dropping it.

"Tony Stark," she proclaimed. "Iron Man."

"Dad?" Harley whimpered softly. " _You're_ Iron Man?" 

Iron Man had only been seen in public once. Once was all it took.

"My name is Edward Carbonell, and you're scaring the kid," Tony snarled.

Wanda's eyes blazed red. "I am not the one to fear here!" She lifted up her hand and Tony snapped his fingers up, firing up his gauntlet. The Scarlet Witch strafed to the side and lifted Tony in the air with a flick of her hand, tossing him aside. He hit the ground hard and all he could hear was Harley screaming.

He got up, firing off a couple quick shots, boxing her in, goading her towards coming at him, and powered up the Unibeam, ready to fire when Harley jolted from his spot, scrambling to stand in front of Tony.

"Harley, move!"

His son was crying, the worst sight in the world. "No!" he screamed, voice breaking. "You said you were going to change!"

"Harley!"

"You _promised!_ " Over Harley's shoulders, the Witch watched him, eyes glowing scarlet as her namesake. "You can't hurt her! You have to stop hurting people, Dad!"

It would be nothing to push Harley aside, to take the shot. He could call the armor to him; the thing could move at Mach 2, it'd be here in a minute. Maximoff and her grudge against him would cease to be a problem. 

But his kid would never look at him the same again. Probably would never talk to him again. He could walk away tonight, but he would lose Harley, the one thing that had kept him going all these years. Yinsen had made him promise to make something out of his life.

Tony powered down and dropped his hands.

Later, when the Witch and a couple of guys with the letters SHIELD emblazoned on their vests had him locked up tight, he met her eyes. The hatred was there, but there was also a glimmer of pity. Tony knew which one he'd rather see. "Who was this 'they' who told you so much about me?"

"You don't know him," she said dismissively. "But I expect you will soon."

Whoever they were, they almost certainly didn't know about the Extremis. Tony would be out of jail in no time.

* * *

 "Director Fury," Thaddeus Ross greeted, rising to shake hands even as the man sitting across from them remained seated, observing. "Good to see you. I imagine SHIELD's been busy in the wake of Ultron."

"SHIELD is always busy, you know that, General," Fury said, gripping hands briefly before sitting down. "Senator."

"Fury," Stern replied. "I'm told you have something important to show us?"

Cutting to the chase, then. Fury could appreciate that even if everything else about Stern was as sleazy as could be. "Gentlemen. I've finally done it. The project is ready."

"Don't tell me you're still chasing after that dream, Director," Ross said with a chuckle. "What was it? The Initiative or something?" In response, Fury tugged the binder out of the briefcase he had brought and dropped it on the table.

"Close, General," he remarked as the men took in the sheer size of the binder. "This is it. The worst of the worst." He leaned forward into Ross' space, the one that will be both the easiest and hardest sell. "You've seen the news. You've seen Sokovia. Relying on the Ultimates to solve all our problems is a dangerous gamble. They're powerful, influential, and most importantly, completely out of our control. If even one of them decides to turn on us we are hopelessly, hilariously outgunned."

"And this is the alternative, Director Fury?"

"It's called the Avengers Initiative. It's meant to bring together a group of very bad people to see if they can become something more. To fight the battles that we never can for us, the battles that can't - maybe even shouldn't - be won. To do some good."

He flips the binder open. "Is that Tony Stark?" Stern says, his shock breaking his charade of schooled indifference. "He's - he's dead."

"Not quite, but we keep him pretty damn close," Fury said, flipping a page. "This is the arc reactor. It keeps Stark alive; he has shrapnel buried in his chest from a bad bomb in Afghanistan. And that," he points to the large ring around the reactor. "Is a governor regulating it. We can turn Stark off with the press of a button."

"Why Stark, though?"

"Stark is Iron Man," Fury said, and watched their faces drain with hidden glee. Everyone had seen Iron Man on the news, fighting the Scarlet Witch. The moment he had flung that bomb into the air. The moment Wanda Maximoff couldn't stop it. The moment that building came down.

The only time Tony Stark had hurt civilians, but these two didn't need to know that.

"Jesus Christ," Ross breathed. "But you have him under control?"

"Him," Fury assured, flipping a page. "And many more."

* * *

 

> CLINTON FRANCIS BARTON  
>  01-07-1980  
>  CODENAME: HAWKEYE  
>  STATUS: INCARCERATED, ACTIVE UNKNOWN-2010  
>  EXPERT BOWMAN, HIRED ASSASSIN AND THIEF  
>  OCCASIONAL PARTNER OF BROTHER BARNEY, AKA TRICKSHOT  
>  OVER 30 KNOWN KILLS AND THREE COUNTS OF GRAND LARCENY
> 
> _Clint Barton was raised in a circus and is a gifted acrobat. He is currently incarcerated at Rikers, pending transfer to the Raft. He is proficient with most weapons; do not give opportunity to create weapons. Advise room check three times a day. Advise small cell with little room to perch. Advise muzzle, because he never shuts up._

"Barney, can we fucking get this done or what?" Clint hissed, watching his brother hoover up diamonds with his handheld vacuum. "Honestly, would have been quicker just to dump the damn drawer in the fucking bag."

"Stop muttering and start helping," Barney shot back, tossing a duffel at Clint. God, this mission was such a bust. He could have done this without Barney, with his eyes closed, and he probably would have been out five minutes ago. He knew he should have taken the bill for that Japanese banker. He could be at an onsen right now, steaming away the thrill of a good kill.

But Barney had called and here he had come. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He should have known better by now. Barney was a dumbass and his plans were idiotic. Especially this one. A bank vault, seriously, what were they? Henchmen?

No. He was The Amazing Hawkeye. Amazing was  _right there in the title._

He stuffed the last of the cash in the bag and flung it over his shoulder. "Let's go. I'm hungry."

"Fine," Barney said, placing the vacuum in his own bag. "But you're buying."

"I am carrying like a million dollars here, idiot, we're both buying." They wandered out to the hallway where Clint went about retrieving the arrows he had shot into the cameras and alarm systems. "No more bank jobs, Barney. I'm serious. We're not twelve anymore, Jesus."

"Oh, sorry, man, you're right," Barney said, oozing sarcasm. "From now on we'll only take the classy jobs. It'll be murder for as far as the eye can see, brother."

Clint snorted. "I didn't know you suddenly developed a conscience, Trick Shot."

"Yeah, I'm a regular Mother Theresa," Barney replied as they stepped over the unfortunate guard they'd shot down on their way inside. "I'm just saying that maybe you're getting a little bit too big for your britches, Clinton. This is good money and it don't involve killing nobody. But you're gonna turn your nose up 'cause what, it hurts your rep?"

Clint rolled his eyes. Killing was killing, who cared as long as he got paid? Life never gave Clint nothing, he certainly wasn't gonna give her anything back. All that mattered was that he - and Barney, the idiot - survived. And decent food. "How you feel about pizza?"

Barney sighed. "That's the third time this week. We're getting Thai."

"I don't think they serve that in jail," a voice said behind him, and the brothers whirled, whipping out their bows to attack - absolutely nobody.

"What the shit?" Clint asked thin air. He better not be going crazy, he did not have the patience to deal with sorting that out.

"Here," the voice whispered in his ear, and Clint was knocked off his feet and sent skidding down the hall. He could hear Barney yelling but when he turned his brother was all tied up in his broken bow string.

"You're not very good at this, are you?" A kid was kneeling down next to him with the stupidest hair he had ever seen. The fucking speedster, Quicksilver, one half of the Maximoff twins.

"What's a fucking Ultimate doing here?" he snarled, trying to scoot away, but Quicksilver vanished, appearing on his other side.

"My good deed," the kid replied. "I mean, seriously, I should be thanking you for being such a terrible thief. My sister will be so pleased. This is going to be _amazing_ PR."

* * *

Tony hated the Raft more than he hated anything else in this life, including Obadiah Stane and Wanda Maximoff, but at least he could move around.

He watched as they wheeled the giant containment chamber down the hallway, knocking on the glass as Ward passed by. "Where are they taking the Capsicle?"

"Shut up, Stark," Ward said because he was a giant pile of uselessness. The soldier paused and looked at Tony. "What'd you call him?"

"Capsicle," Tony repeated, and rolled his eyes at Ward's nonplussed look. "It's a play on words. You know? Popsicle. Captain. Capsicle. You there yet?"

Ward snorted. "Captain? Bet he hasn't been called that in a long time."

"Yeah, well you weren't raised in the Stark household," Tony said grimly. "It was Captain Rogers or it was a slap. I know what I preferred."

"Your dad a big Captain America fan?" Ward asked, forgetting himself and leaning against the window. Tony smiled a conspirator's smile and got closer.

"My dad _made_ Captain America. He's the one that pulled him out of the ice, too."

Tony hadn't been born when Howard found Rogers in the ice after twenty years of deep freezing, but there was a picture out there somewhere of Steve Rogers in full Captain America regalia holding the most adorable baby _ever_ in 1974, six months before Rogers went AWOL in Vietnam. Went more than AWOL if you heard some of the soldiers tell it. "Went straight insane," Tony remembered one of them whispering to his mother where Howard couldn't hear. "Jungle did that to you. Said he kept seeing ghosts."

Rogers appeared some ten years later, still looking the same, fighting alongside a metal armed man some mysterious and undoubtedly evil Powers That Be had let leak was called the Winter Soldier. Together with their terrifying Ballerinas - way to ruin an entire profession, modern media! - they had unleashed a run of terror over the world that had lasted for twenty five years. They struck without warning and without care, sniping or smashing or killing hundreds in bombings that would have made a lesser demolitions expert jealous.

If Tony had grown up with only Howard Stark's stories about Steve Rogers he might not have ever given the man a second thought. But he was raised by Margaret Carter, too, she who told of a lonely young man with the most courageous heart she had ever known. And the angriest. "I don't know what happened out there," she used to tell him. "I know that Vietnam was hard on him, but there was something else. Maybe he had lost too much, maybe he couldn't cope with the change. All I know is that darkness is within all of us and whatever was out there found it in Steve. Guard your heart, my brave Antony."

Well, he had failed there. All that was left was to be horribly grateful that Alzheimer's had gotten Aunt Peggy before he could see the both of them end up there.

"Wow," Ward said. "I'm betting he regretted that. They say he's insane, you know?" A pause, and Ward leaned even closer. "Keep it to yourself, alright, but they're taking him out. Waking him up. Bastard's been under six months; I say just leave him there." With a disgusted noise, Ward pushed off the glass and rapped against it with his gun. "Lights out in thirty, Stark."

He walked away and Tony watched as Rogers' containment chamber finally rounded the corner out of sight. "Poor kid," he murmured, then headed to bed, reaching out with Extremis once more to feel out the Raft's defenses. 

* * *

 

> STEVEN GRANT ROGERS  
>  07-04-1918  
>  AKA CAPTAIN AMERICA (1942-1945, 1965-1975)  
>  CODENAME: NOMAD  
>  STATUS: INCARCERATED, ACTIVE 1986-2009  
>  MASTER HAND-TO-HAND SPECIALIST, TACTICIAN, ENHANCED PHYSICAL STRENGTH  
>  FIGHTS USING VIBRANIUM ALLOY SHIELD (CURRENTLY IN RAFT CUSTODY) AND CUSTOMIZED PISTOL  
>  STRIPPED OFF HIS TITLE AFTER GOING AWOL IN 1975  
>  PARTNER OF THE WINTER SOLDIER  
>  SUSPECT OF OVER EIGHT BOMBINGS AND THIRTY-EIGHT CONFIRMED KILLS  
>  ACCOMPLICE IN THE MURDER OF FORMER BLACK PANTHER PRINCESS SHURI OF WAKANDA
> 
> _Steve Rogers, formerly a Captain of the United States army, is currently in cryogenic stasis in the Raft. It is postulated he can remain this way for many years. He will be kept under until further notice. Guards should be advised that he and his partner the Winter Soldier are pathologically obsessed with one another. Expect an insurgence from the Ballerinas or other forces at any moment._

 

"Now that is a job well done," Steve said with satisfaction, reveling in the heat of the flames they could feel from hundreds of feet away as the building exploded. "Good work, Winter."

Bucky had always responded well to praise. Could never get enough of it, the jerk. But the Soldier was different. There was no job well done for him, there was only the job or failure. Even now he watched as dust scattered, his targets' ashes surely scattering with it, and remained blank.

It didn't matter. Steve would keep trying. He would never give up on Bucky. He was still in there, Steve knew it, all he had to do was be patient and help Winter complete the mission. Maybe once this was over he'd let Bucky out to play.

And play they would. It would be a whole new world for Buck and Steve couldn't wait to introduce it to him. But before that could happen, was it so bad to make sure it was safe for them? In the distance people screamed and Steve watched them scurry along the street trying to get away from the explosion. It had been a nice hotel, he had to admit; he and Winter had stayed there the past week scoping their targets. And while others might think blowing the whole floor was overkill, others didn't know HYDRA. When you chopped off one head, two more grew in its place, and they had just taken out a lot of heads. 

The rest of the world didn't get it. Nobody got it, except for Winter. He knew what HYDRA was, what they had done firsthand and he had shown it to Steve. The only scars that ever stayed. There was no such thing as overkill here. There was the job, or there was failure, and Steve couldn't afford to fail, not with Bucky hanging in the balance.

"We should leave," Winter intoned.

"I hear Berlin is nice this time of year," Steve remarked idly, and Winter glanced sidelong at him before nodding at Kat, who immediately dialed up one of their contacts in Berlin and began securing a safehouse. Steve threw his arm around Winter's shoulder. "How do you feel about a date night? We can go to one of those old bars we used to back during the war, do you remember?"

"You know I do not," Winter said. 

"You might," Steve whispered, pulling him close and tucking into his shoulder. "We're close, don't you think? We're almost there, and then you and I, we'll have the whole world."

"Captain." Winter never called him by name. Ever since Bucky had been sent after him in Vietnam, HYDRA intent on taking out their old nemesis, he had been 'Captain.' Steve had grown used to it, grown to adore the way Winter said it with none of the awe that others had before him. 

"Till the end of the line," Steve said into his hair, and Winter expelled a heavy breath and brought his metal hand to rest on Steve's head.

"Fine," he agreed, and Steve grinned. Then the hand tightened, five points of pain digging into his scalp. "But we cannot linger. The Panther chases us everywhere."

"The Panther's dead," Steve said softly. He didn't like to think of Shuri, how she had looked after Winter was done with her, so much blood- "Her brother isn't her. Not as smart, not as dangerous. We're fine."

"You're a fool," Winter said bluntly. He released Steve and stepped back, just looking at him, the flames casting his cheekbones into stark relief. He was beautiful. It was times like these that Steve saw Bucky somewhere in those eyes, begging Steve to just hold on, to just keep trying. 

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Winter's, as cold as his name beneath his own. "Your fool," he whispered sweetly.

He could never imagine that he would have gotten Bucky back when he was pulled out of the ice. Twenty years had passed, Howard and Peggy were married, and America was still embroiled in war. All he had done defending his nation from evil had seemed for nothing, but he had tried to find purpose. He thought he could just jump back in and serve, but Vietnam was not a World War II battlefront. People went into that jungle and different people came back out wearing their faces. 

It was messy and political. Boys lived and fought and died beside him and it was all so pointless. Nothing was won or gained, nothing was _saved_. He saw children starving and mutilated, he saw whole towns destroyed by Agent Orange, and he could do nothing. It was all so _useless_. Even Steve, for all his great strength, was useless. And without Bucky and Commandos by his side, he had felt utterly alone. 

He had tried. He knew what the history books said about him now, but he had _tried_ , dammit. Steve Rogers was not the one who failed his country. Out there, he felt like the same kid from Brooklyn, but it was no longer something to be proud of. Vietnam ripped that away from him. He was still the same sickly stunted kid who would end up bleeding on the ground trying to fight injustice, and he always would be. The serum hadn't changed that, it just kept him in the fight a bit longer. 

He knew what the history books said, but Steve Rogers hadn't gone mad out in the jungle, he had found himself. And so did the Winter Soldier.

And when they fought each other to a standstill in that forest, neither of them fighting for causes they believed in, it took nothing at all to take the third option. Steve hadn't regretted it once.

Now he leaned into Winter's side in a bar in Berlin. He still smelled like Bucky, gun oil and whetstones, but he knew better than to point that out. Those first few years Steve had tried to bring Bucky out by force, but Winter quickly broke him of that inclination. He'd shown Steve what HYDRA had done to him and Steve understood. It would take time. That was okay. They had time.

"What are you thinking?" He loved asking that question; Winter never lied, a bit of conditioning he couldn't seem to break. Sometimes the answer surprised both of them.

"I am thinking of you," Winter said, looking up at Steve. "You are warm. I am still unused to it. Irrational. You have been by my side for years."

"And I will be for many more," Steve promised. "Once the mission's complete, I'll take you someplace hot. The Bahamas."

"I don't want to be hot." Winter signaled for another beer, looking on the outside to be your everyday tourist. 

"What do you want, then?"

Winter tore the cap off the bottle with his gloved metal hand and took a cursory sip, staring out at the crowd. "To destroy them all."

They left around midnight, Winter insistent upon their early rise the next morning. They had a lead on a HYDRA factory being built somewhere in Mongolia. It would be a relief, Steve found himself thinking, to be away from civilians. This operation might not end up in the history books.

Their contact, Jasper Sitwell, had provided transportation to take them to the safehouse and it waited outside for them, Kat standing at the ready to drive them. Steve spared a smile for her - she was his favorite of all the Red Room girls, the ones the media had dubbed the Ballerinas, utterly and unfailingly loyal to Winter and Steve after they had saved them from the KGB. 

They were halfway to their location when Winter grew tense, looking behind them. "It is the Panther," he snarled, and reached for the sniper rifle kept ready in the back. Steve twisted, watching the dark figure running after them and gaining, and Winter took aim.

T'Challa dodged, jumping onto a car and then another to catch up. Another shot, this time true, but the bullet merely bounced off the suit. "Vibranium," Steve muttered, irritated. "My shield used to be unique, you know. Now everybody's got it."

"Ekaterina, faster," Winter commanded, ignoring Steve.

But it was no use; T'Challa was on them in no time. Winter switched out guns, shooting through the roof, but clawed hands reached down and broke the windows, scratching at all three occupants. Steve heaved himself out of the window, grabbing T'Challa's arm and flinging him from the vehicle, but their problems were not over. Before them a blockade had been established, German police standing at the ready.

"The river is just beyond," Winter said to Kat. "Keep driving. We will escape through the water."

"What?" Steve cried. It was December, the river would be freezing. He couldn't do that again. "Bucky, please, let's roll out here and fight them off, you know we can."

" _I am not Bucky_ ," the Winter Soldier snarled at him, and Steve even after all these years found himself recoiling. "We must complete the mission. We cannot be caught. Drive!" They crashed through the blockade, the cars in their way, and through the railing to the river below, crashing into the icy water so hard that Steve was propelled into the front seat. 

It was so cold down here, and dark. Where was Bucky? He wouldn't have left him, not down here, he couldn't be alone down here  _again._ Steve twisted, looking for the Soldier, but could see nothing but Kat, unmoving in her seat. She was floating against the seatbelt, and Steve ripped at it, bringing her close and elbowing at the window until it gave. He pushed towards the light but it blinked out in front of them, the shadow in front of him dark and pointed.

"Shuri," he said, the name leaving his mouth in a stream of bubbles. Shuri couldn't be here, she was dead. A clawed hand reached out for him and Steve tried to swim away. "No! I'm sorry, please!" He couldn't stay here, in the cold and the dark. 

Shuri's hand came down sharp across his head and it all fell away.

* * *

" _The_ Captain America?" Stern said in one long exhale. "We've been after him for years. How'd you manage to take him down?"

"Prince T'Challa has been eager for vengeance," Fury remarked. "He brought us Rogers and we kept the Black Panther's involvement out of the files. The last thing any Ultimate needs to be doing is meddling where he shouldn't be."

"If anyone has a right to go after those two, it would be him," Ross said, frowning in such a way at the binder that Fury could tell he was reading the type upside down. "I heard Princess Shuri had more broken bones than not when they recovered her body." Even Fury had to suppress a shudder at the reminder of what had happened to the previous Black Panther. The princess had been a nightmare to deal with but she had been a good woman, eager to do what she saw as her duty and quite proficient at it until she got in between the Winter Soldier and his mission to wipe HYDRA from the face of the planet.

No one knew why the Winter Soldier pursued them so relentlessly and the attempts they had made at getting Rogers to talk before sending him into cryo did nothing but leave the Captain with a few dozen injuries that his serum healed overnight. 

"Rogers has always done anything he wanted," Ross said with a sneer. No one in the military was fond of the former Captain America. "Barton's a damn fool, anyone can see that, but Rogers has one of the greatest tactical minds in the world. How are you getting him on board?"

"A good old-fashioned threat. Rogers hasn't lived this long just to die now. Plus, he's psychotically devoted to the Soldier. In a firefight in 1994 soldiers reported seeing him take several bullets meant for his partner. He'll want a chance at freedom if only to get back to him." Fury flipped to the next file and in a flash Ross was on his feet, his chair falling out from behind him.

"No," he snarled, his face bone white. "Absolutely not. That man is a monster. Whatever hole you have thrown him in, throw it away. Do you know what he did?"

"I know he surrended peacefully after he did it," Fury said calmly. "Banner is a man broken, General, and it is damn waste. We both know it. He is the most powerful person living on this planet and we have the chance to use that power for some good. Some sacrifices must be made."

"Not this one," Ross insisted, but his tone was defeated, his shoulders already slumped. "He never goes free. Never, Fury, do you hear me?"

"I hear you," Fury lied.

* * *

 

> DOCTOR ROBERT BRUCE BANNER  
>  12-18-1975  
>  GENIUS LEVEL INTELLECT, PHD IN BIOCHEMISTRY AND PHYSICS  
>  HAS ALTERNATE FORM TRIGGERED BY RAGE, ENHANCED STRENGTH, AGILITY, AND RESILIENCE  
>  RESPONSIBLE FOR THE KIRBY STREET MASSACRE
> 
> _Doctor Bruce Banner is currently incarcerated in the Raft. He is the most well-behaved patient we have. Keep Calm and Carry On._

Bruce looked up at the sky, watching the clouds roll by. It was a nice day today. He might take the kids out to the park. 

Sirens wailed in the distance and his naked skin pebbled against the slight breeze in the air. A nice day. Maybe a cookout. Someone else had had the same idea, look at all the smoke in the air...

The voice inside his head laughed and Bruce turned his gaze down. The street was soaked from the busted water pipes of the Johnson's house. Next to it the Delgado's cozy two story was completely flattened. The Ramirez' dog was in the front yard, barking for his master trapped somewhere inside the ruined mess of his living room. All down the street was scattered wood and glass and stone and _screaming_.

There, at the end, was his house. Where his house _was_. He had been so angry.

He was still there when the police came, sitting out in the sun and soaking it in. It was a nice day today.

* * *

"What's a nice girl like her doing in a binder like this?" Stern said when Fury turned to his piece de resistance. 

He smirked. "Oh, it's not her. It's what inside her."

"Another Banner?" Ross asked gruffly into his whiskey.

"No," Fury said, staring down at Jane Foster's smiling face. "His name is Loki. He claims to be a God. And based on what he can do, I'm inclined to believe him."

* * *

 

> DOCTOR JANE NELSON FOSTER  
>  08-04-1981  
>  PHD IN ASTROPHYSICS  
>  HOST OF:
> 
> LOKI  
>  AGE UNKNOWN  
>  MASTER MANIPULATOR AND ILLUSIONIST. ENHANCED STRENGTH AND RESILIENCE.
> 
> _That poor woman._

"Don!" Jane called, listening to it echo all around the caverns. "I'm cold. Come warm me up!"

She heard him laughing somewhere further down the cave and huffed good-naturedly. He was so into this stuff while Jane would have been perfected happy cooping herself up in Stockholm's new observatory. But no, this was their pre-honeymoon and he had dutifully visited every museum with her yesterday so today it was his choice. And of course he had to choose the creepy caves located in north Sweden in the middle of October.

She laughed at herself as she preceded further down the cave. Pre-honeymoon. Darcy was right, it sounded unbearably hipster when she thought about it, but it was a good idea. She and Donald, geniuses that they were, had scheduled their wedding right before Jane presented her thesis and Donald sat for his medical exams. They'd be absolutely useless at enjoying themselves and too busy regardless.

Well, if anyone commented, it was Don's idea. Unless the comment was 'oh, that's actually really smart.' Then it could be Jane's. She still couldn't believe it, that she was actually getting the happy ending. A doctorate, a secure job working for Erik Selvig, and Donald Blake, the most gorgeous, intelligent, and kindest fiance anyone could ask for.

Jane Foster-Blake. No, it still didn't sound right. She was staying just Jane Foster. It's not like Donald minded; he even offered to become Donald Foster instead.

She was lucky, and she knew it. And even though this cave was freezing (and getting colder the farther she wandered) she could acknowledge that the history was fascinating. Every so often she would come across ancient runes and drawings carved into the stone. It appeared to be a tale of a king and queen that had either been very feared or very beloved. Perhaps both. Every drawing of them featured others, smaller and on their knees. 

She reached a gate cutting her off from further exploring the tunnel and scoffed, irritated. She hated not knowing things, and she could see more carvings the further along she went. "Jane?" she heard Don call.

"Down here!" 

It was a simple enough gate. Just a matter of leverage. Jane may be tiny, but she lugged around a lot of heavy lab equipment on a daily basis. She squatted down and got her hands wrapped tight around the bars and then heaved up and out with all her might. Two more tries and the gate came loose from it's bolt hinges.  _Reminder to leave tip on Yelp,_ she told herself, and let the door drop.

It was so cold she was nearly shivering out of her boots, but the drawings began to change. The subjects rose up, standing tall, hands uplifted. The king and queen were surrounded. A third figure, larger than the rest, appeared, and cast the king and queen down, taking from them a great horned crowned and a winged helmet. The last drawing was that of a large, curving scepter and massive hammer. There were no runes.

 _Bit anticlimactic_ , she thought, and that's when the ground crumbled beneath her.

She fell, landing hard on another floor twenty feet below, her left leg aching horrible. "Jane?" Donald was calling, sounding panicked. "Jane!"

"I fell," she coughed out, then tried again. "Don, I fell. Go get help, please!"

She saw the tip of her fiance's blond head appear over the curve and then his bright blue eyes, blazing in relief when he saw her relatively unharmed. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, but it's freezing down here. Please hurry, Don!"

"Okay, okay," Donald said, nodding to himself. "I'll be back before you know it. Don't move, alright, you could have injuries you can't feel yet. I'll be right back, I love you, okay?"

"Okay," she echoed, her breath misting in front of her. Don't be scared. You'll be fine. Don't be scared, Jane. "I love you, too."

He disappeared and after a few moments of silence she couldn't stand it any longer. Her phone was miraculous unbroken and she activated the flashlight, casting it about. The cavern looked relatively unremarkable but was suspiciously uniform in its structure. This place wasn't natural, it had been carved out of the stone. But for what?

She got to her feet, limping painfully to the far, dark end, gasping as a giant structure slowly came into view. It sat on a ring of runes and was twice as tall as she was, dome-shaped with a large forked prong sticking straight up into the air. Two pillars stood on either side of it, one holding a large metal brick and the other holding another two pronged structure, this one uneven and curved and impossibly familiar.

It was the scepter she had seen before, in the drawing. And the other object was - yes, she could see the handle stuck into the pillar, that was the hammer! This was incredible! How had no one ever found this before? She activated the video function on her phone and kept moving.

She approached the scepter, running her hand along the building in the middle. The dust came away and she could see a dim glint of gold. Curiouser and curiouser, she mused to herself.

The scepter was covered in dirt and grime and she was reluctant to part with any piece of clothing she had so she spit saliva on her gloves and rubbed. Wait until Don saw this, he was going to lose his mind -

Her fingers glanced against the stone sitting in the middle of the scepter and it blazed to life. The last conscious thought Jane had was of cruel green eyes and a great ruin in space. A silver tongue, whispering a name.

_Loki._

* * *

"This is impossible," Stern whispered, seemingly to himself, and Fury smiled thinly.

"We've all seen the Guardians of the Galaxy, gentlemen. It's no question anymore that other life is out there. Loki claims to be a prince from a realm he called Asgard and is a master of what can only been called magic."

"And you think you can persuade somebody like him to do your bidding?" Ross asked disbelievingly. Fury smirked and raised his hand, prompting Agent Coulson to step forward with the case that contained the most powerful weapon in his arsenal. He popped open the case and spun it around, showing it to the man. In it lay the top half of Loki's scepter, with the stone between its prongs, now glowing bright blue. The winning hand, and now the trump card:

"The Guardians warned us about what was out there, and this stone corroborates their story. It's made of no metal found on this earth and has the ability to completely wipe a man's brain and submit him to your will."

"And you know this, how?" Stern asked, looking down greedily at the glow. Fury snapped the case shut and handed it back over to Coulson.

"Because it works on Loki," he said simply. "Whoever used that spear had a serious grudge against him; whoever holds the stone holds power of him. He'll do whatever I tell him to."

"God, the Guardians were bad enough, you're telling us their insane spiel about titans and shapeshifters are  _true_?" Ross, always quick on the uptake, looked horrified at the implication. He took one look at Fury's face and swallowed down the rest of his drink.

"It's not just the Ultimates, gentlemen. It's not just politics." Fury looked between the two of them, staring at him like Jesus after a three day nap, and smiled. _He had them_. "We need a team that isn't afraid of getting their hands dirty. I'm trusting you with the real truth. Can I depend on you to sell this to the higher-ups?"

Ross and Stern looked at each other and after a moment, nodded. "They'll need a demonstration," Ross added.

Fury smirked. "They'll get one. It's been a pleasure, boys." He stood and headed for the door, Coulson falling into step behind him. "Get Dr. Foster on the phone," he told his right hand man. "Tell her a plane will be by in the morning to take her to D.C."

* * *

Loki stared at the hands of his host. Such delicate things; such wonders he would perform with them.

Jane Foster beat furiously at the back of his mind at these thoughts. She was a pestilence, this mortal, refusing to submit to him. As if he were the intruder, when she was the little idiot to come wandering into his prison. She had offered herself to him and he had graciously accepted. She should be grateful.

He had the strangest picture of a middle finger being held up intruding on his thoughts.

It was a bit of a shock to find the world so changed from what it was when he and his brother ruled the lands; he had willingly gone with the men who came to take Jane away just to drink in his fill of this new age. They called it the twenty-first century, which was _baffling_ to say the least. What had possibly happened two thousand years ago to make these fools rearrange time itself?

Things were adding up, a tiny dozen things that grated at his nerves. Follies that needed correcting. Loki would observe for now, but this world needed to be put to rights. This world needed him. His father had made a mistake all those years ago when he imprisoned his sons, and oh would Loki enjoy rubbing that fact in his face right before he put his scepter through it.

 _His scepter_.

Loki stood, still unused to how small this host was, and looked around pointlessly. There was nothing here but the impenetrable glass walls of this cage. No matter, he calmed himself. He would get out eventually; Jane Foster has unusually large brown eyes that most humans seemed to fawn over, particularly that large blond oaf that visited twice a day. He'd bat them once in the right direction and off he'd be. He'd find the scepter and his new rule would begin, untroubled this time.

Surely, untroubled. It had been thousands of years. The Chitauri, Thanos...they would have forgotten him, throw Midgard away as a lost cause. It was his for the taken. Perhaps after a millenium of his rule he would raise up Thor and they could reign together as they did before.

He was a bit dismayed to find his mind rebel at that thought. A millenium was too long. He missed his brother. Dimly, Jane Foster was surprised at the ache in his chest.

"You look a bit lost," a voice came, and Loki whirled on the intruder. A tall dark male with a patch over one eye stood beyond the glass, holding a black box in his hands. "Missing something?"

"The reason for my being in this cage," Loki recovered smoothly.

The man smirked. "You're a good talker, Silvertongue. A bit too good, probably." His grin widened when Loki took an involuntarily step back. Silvertongue, the Deceiver. The Liar. His favorite concubine Sigyn had carved the runes into his chest before Father cast him down. Jane's skin was as clear as ever but he could still feel the cold burn of the knife. "Even if we hadn't figured out the runes, the amount of bullshit you spouting when we first caught you was enough. You go by Loki, correct?"

Loki remained silent, Jane thrumming with smug pleasure in the background, while Fury placed his black box on the table and opened it, pulling out-

"You've ruined it, you heathen!" Loki shouted, staring at the sawn off top of his scepter, only acknowledging the Mind Stone when it was too late. Fury ran his finger across it and Loki shuddered, watching Jane's brown eyes burn blue from the inside out in the dim reflection of the glass.

"They turned it against you, didn't they?" Fury asked softly, knocking gently against the stone and forcing a gasp out of Loki. "The very thing that bound them to their will; they turned it all around and trapped you inside. I've got to say I am damn proud. Human stubborness and ingenuity at its finest."

 _More like foolhardy brothers and spiteful fathers_ , Loki thought bitterly, but he fixed a grim smile onto Jane's pretty face. "You want something, then, human. Your kind always do. Scrabbling for power; it's pointless you know. You've found the stone; it's already too late."

"Yeah," the man said. "I've got a plan for that. And you're going to help." Suddenly the stone was pressed right against the glass. "The first thing you're going to do is let Jane Foster back out to play."

"And the second?" Loki gasped even as his mind retreated and Jane pushed forward.

Fury pressed harder, the stone blazing bright. "Wherever you go, until I say, you stay there."

 _No_ , was Loki's last thought. _This will not do at all._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me at my tumblr [here](http://aslightstep.tumblr.com/).


	2. slippin' into darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You'll think "how did I get here, sitting next to you?"_
> 
>  
> 
> Jane and Loki play Russian Roulette with her brain - and others'. Coulson mourns the death of heroes. And Fury never shows his cards, but that doesn't mean he's got the ones needed to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, sorry about the wait guys, but I had this whole big plan that I would get one out every two weeks and then my main fic Irreparable starting kicking my ass. In the interest of full disclosure I will warn you that this is a fun fic for me and not really a priority, so while I have every intention to finish it and indeed it is completely outlined, it won't always be a speedy process.

The Director Fury came to him often - ostensibly to speak to Jane Foster, to offer her a way to cope with 'what has happened to her' (always he said it with disdain in his voice, as if being his host isn't a glorious gift, as if that idiot mortal didn't choose it herself when she attempted to grasp his power) - but none of them were ignorant enough to buy it. He came to see Loki, to find out how he could be used to Fury's advantage.

With the stone and scepter in the director's grasp, Loki was near powerless to Fury's machinations. And for now, that was exactly as it needed to be.

Loki was, from what he gleaned from Jane's mind, a God of ancient history to these mortals. Though he was never considered such in any other realm he could see why the comparison was merited here. He was powerful, and old, and unfathomable to all who were clever enough to realize what a millennium of knowledge and society could make of a being.

Fury was not clever enough. Oh, he _himself_ supposed he was - and no doubt _was_ compared to the simpletons and sycophants he surrounded himself with - but it would be his downfall. The one-eyed man was so incredibly aware of Loki, when it was the host he should be watching for.

Jane Foster's mind was beautiful; brilliant and bright and _hungry_. She was endlessly curious about Loki, the scepter, and the strange structure she found with both. Loki had despaired of ever being free for one brief and dark moment before her mind caught upon that memory again, and then again, until it consumed her.

He had built it for Thor, who so dearly wanted to go home, and of course Loki promised his dear brother a way back after three centuries of Heimdall ignoring their calls.

Thor was never meant to rule, Loki remembered with a mental sneer. Always coddling the mortals, joining in their hunts and revelries, the first to lead their armies and the last to leave their meadhalls. When the humans rose up against them Loki had counseled subjugation and for a brief time, Thor had listened, incensed at the slights to his pride and honor. They had put down every rebellion with swift and terrible vengeance, quelling the populace for a peaceful few decades.

His brother rejoiced in the wars, but never in the aftermath, the abandoned meadhalls, the empty hunts. He had no courage. When Tyr and Baldur, boys that Thor had raised from babes to join him on his adventures as he had done with others for centuries, gathered arms and armies to challenge them again, Thor laid down his hammer and pleaded with Loki for the both of them to go home.

Loki would not give up this world, not like he had been forced to give up his throne on Asgard. But he also could not hope to fight his brother and win. So he cast out to the stars a call for aid and future alliances, and he was heeded.

The Chitauri had sent their magic down in a meteor, and around it Loki had built a machine so grand and terrible the like had never been seen before (but perhaps, he conceded upon perusal of Jane's thoughts and coming across the names Hiroshima and Nagasaki, had been seen since). He promised Thor it was a way home, even building it in the image of the Bifrost from their realm, but all the while he planned revolution as Tyr and Baldur drew ever closer.

The machine had not worked. Loki Silvertongue cast out to the stars again and received derision in response. Oh, how it still claw at the edges of his mind, that Thanos, that mad titan, smirking on his throne as he bade Loki to prove himself to them. 

**_'My armies will come when called, trickster. You only need figure out the words. Until then, you are proven unworthy.'_ **

By then Tyr and Baldur were at the gates. And Odin, King of Asgard, most beloved father and the vilest of traitors, was with them. He locked his sons away in a tomb never to be seen again. Was not banishing them the first time enough? How many millenia would he endure Thor's enraged roars and the sharp lance of pain when Loki called for his parents and received no response?

Did not that enduring deserve some kind of reward?

Now he had awoken to this brand new world that revered Tyr and Baldur as some distant gods of war and cast Loki and his brother down as usurpers and tyrants. A world gone mad, he had decided. But he would correct this.

 _Yes,_ he thought, as Jane's mind reached out to his to answer some questions of Fury's. She was so ravenous, his host, and she would do anything for the answers she sought.  _Anything._ Curiosity was her burden to bear, and it was not one Loki intended to lighten any time soon.

"Dr. Foster?" Fury repeated, and Jane shook herself - and Loki - loose from their mental entanglements.

"I'm sorry, Director, could you repeat the question?" There was a razor's edge of irritation in her voice as there always was these days, one that Loki hoped to sharpen to an even finer edge better to cut all in their path away. Jane Foster was not meant for confinement. She was meant for the stars, and she was slowly coming to suspect that Loki might be able to give them to her.  _Only if I can control him,_ she counseled herself, and Loki fought to keep his immense amusement to himself. Let the little mortal try. It was always better when they tried.

"Does he have any sort of powers? In the legends he was a great sorcerer, whatever that meant for people who barely understood fire," Fury said with a roll of his good eye.

Jane reached out and Loki met her, and his response filled her with a heady combination of dread and excitement. "He says he has as much as I have. Every human has a capacity for magic, and Loki can access mine."  _But not near what I had, not, not near enough. But soon. Soon._

Odin could no more destroy his magic then he could destroy the heavens. He could only bind it as he had his sons. Odin was not subtle. Loki could easily guess where his full power - and Thor's - was hidden.

"We'll find out what you can do, then," Fury said, looking pleased.

"Sir?"

Fury tapped the scepter against the glass. "I'm working on putting together a team, Dr. Foster, to take on the threats others can't. Threats like the psychopath taking up space in your head right now. You help us with that, we help you with him."

A flash of bitterness from Jane, a tight press of her fingers against the ring that marked her betrothal to that golden Neanderthal that came visiting everyday. But "Okay" was all she said. She despised this. Every inch of it. She wanted free. Such a deadly combination in such a tiny thing. Loki might even regret killing her when he was finally back to his full strength and free of her.

She had three visitors, ever. She was lonely, his Dr. Foster, but loved. Golden Donald Blake hung on her every word and seemed to live within SHIELD now, if only to see her more often. He was quite the mind in his own right, from Jane's estimation, but she was besotted. The man was clearly beneath her. More intriguing was the brilliant Dr. Erik Selvig, who spent time exchanging notes with Jane on their theories of relativity and something called an Einstein-Rosen Bridge that the Asgardians had figured out before Loki was born. Darcy Lewis was by far the dimmest person he had yet to encounter, but she was also strangely engaging and informative on the current state of this new world Loki had awoken to. 

Now Selvig and Blake hovered just outside their glass prison - Fury was still clever enough not to let anyone within reaching distance of Jane and therefore, himself - as they discussed Selvig's research. Jane was incredibly passionate about it; it was her late father's work. How she would marvel at the Bifrost if she could see it, all her frantic studying realized beyond the theoretical and into the practical.

How she would burn to know more.

Now Loki let his thoughts and memories trickle through to her side of their bond, the Bifrost growing bright and his and Thor's last, violent journey when they were cast out of Asgard by their father. He could tell when her mind made the connection between the structure of the Bifrost and that of Loki's machine that she had found the scepter with.

"Don," she said, hesitant with apprehension and excitement. How much of it was her own and how much was his own he could not say. "The machine they found me with...have they figured out what it does yet?"

"No," Selvig answered in the other man's stead, shoulders hunching as if he could not contain himself. "But it is fascinating, Jane - the energy it puts off, and sitting in that cave for so long. Nobody can open it up, but SHIELD is working on it."

 _I can,_ Loki let his thoughts wonder.  _I can open it. If only I had my brother's help. If only he weren't still trapped._

"Did they bring it here?" Jane asked. "With the hammer?"

Donald shook his head. "They tried to move the hammer, but it won't budge, so they had to cut out nearly the entire cavern. I think they're transporting it to the States, though. Should be soon."

"Do you think they'll let me look at it?"

The two men looked at each other, caution in each gaze, and anger spiked high in Jane. She knew she could figure this out if they just let her. In that anger Loki could read an entire lifetime of being pushed aside, or even worse, pushed down, all because of who she was. He sympathized, and he rejoiced. He could not have asked for a finer, more ambitious, and more securely insecure host.

He eyed Donald Blake, his strong tall frame and golden form. A form Thor would be pleased with and a mind that would follow Jane's every desire. All the pieces were in place. He just had to wait to be set free.

And he had the chance, when Fury came and told Jane he had a task for her.

* * *

_BARTON, CLINTON FRANCIS_  
_AGE 30_  
_RIKERS ISLAND, NEW YORK CITY, NY, USA_

_Barton covers up his insecurities with sarcasm, a common defense mechanism. He displays a strong flight instinct when confronted with stressful situations, and though he is a very angry individual, this seems to be covering up a bottomless well of fear within in. Barton has reacted poorly to solitary and it is advised that he only be placed there when no other options are available._

_Barton has displayed a great capacity for caretaking, taking many of the younger inmates under his wing, but he does not appear to enjoy this aspect of his personality. From his history we can speculate that Barton has spent many years looking after his brother [BARNEY BARTON, 33, ADX, CO, USA] without getting much in return for his attentions. He was orphaned as a child, then sold to an assassins guild masquerading as a circus, then forcibly ejected from said guild when they called for his own execution {NOTE: FOR FURTHER INFORMATION SEE KNOWN HISTORY, P. 8}. Barton's unwillingness to let his few objects find a place in his cell suggests he has little concept of home._

_It is in my opinion that Barton hungers for approval and despises himself for it. He sees any emotional attachment as weakness and yet in spite of that has formed many connections at Rikers, seemingly without any conscious effort towards doing so. It is advised to use a carrot, rather than the stick, to correct Barton's behavior._

* * *

Coulson rubbed the bridge of his nose hard, glaring down at the transfer authorization forms he had just signed off on. He didn't see why Fury wanted Clint Barton of all people for this little suicide squad of his. Rogers, Banner, Stark - they all brought something to the table that almost no one else on the planet could. But Barton? The man fought using a weapon from the Stone Age and from the psychological evaluation seemed to be nothing but a collection of wisecracks and abandonment issues. 

What special skills could a man like that bring to this team?

Coulson laughed miserably at himself. Was he finally giving in, coming around to Fury's insane scheme? Had he given in so easily? When had that happened, he wondered, the first time Steven Rogers flashed him the patented 'Captain America Expects More Out of You' face from all the old posters or the twentieth time he was denied communication to Daisy?

He wasn't naive; he was part of SHIELD, for chrissakes. A shadier government organization you would be hard-pressed to find. Even his beloved Daisy Johnson they had essentially kidnapped off the street and, Coulson was shamed to admit, indoctrinated her to SHIELD's cause. Which is why he didn't fight Fury's manipulation too hard. Let Daisy go out and see the world, away from SHIELD and with her own kind that could truly understand her. Coulson would remain in the shadows. He knew the way the world worked, he knew why something like SHIELD was necessary and he knew that Nicholas Fury was absolutely imperative to the United States' continued survival. Usually he followed the man's word like it was law.

But this - these people - this was something else. 

Even Natasha Romanova, the famed Black Widow, was given time and space for rehabilitation under SHIELD's watchful gaze before being set loose in the field. Fury seemed unconcerned that his Avengers Initiative contained mass murderers, thieves, and uncontrollable familicidal rage monsters; in fact, he even seemed pleased by it. Fury would be the first one to point out that those same people were geniuses and tacticians who were being wasted on lives of crime when they were better suited to his whims and therefore the Earth's best interests.

Only Coulson wasn't so sure those were the same things anymore. Fury had been spurned and outplayed by the Ultimates one too many times. Their power, in Coulson's opinion, was the one true thing Fury feared, because he could not control it. He had been planning the Initiative for years, stealing information on Stark and sending spies after the Soldier and the Captain, leaving hints and clues for the Maximoff twins on Barton's whereabouts. Now with this Loki under his sway and the Ultimates' declining popularity, everything was in place for him to secure his goals.

No, Coulson wasn't naive. He lived in the shadows; thrived in them, really. But that was a damn sight different from willingly throwing himself into the darkness like these maniacs had. He still believed in heroes, and none of the Avengers would ever be one. They didn't deserve a second chance.

In a way, that made signing Barton's - and a Brock Rumlow, whoever 'Crossbones' was - transfer form even easier. Sure, let the bow-and-arrows guy fight the kind of people Coulson did. No more helpless victims taken by surprise or unaware night guards armed only with nightsticks and tazers, but the real bad guys. He wouldn't last a second, and the world would be down one more psychopath.

His phone rang, breaking him out of his reverie, and he picked up immediately upon seeing the caller ID. "Sir?"

"You have a team picked out for the Initiative?" Fury barked, a loud whirring sound underneath his voice indicating the man was riding in a helicopter. Coulson sighed - he wouldn't even care about the Avengers if Fury hadn't charged him with bringing them together and keeping them in line, commanding the agent to build his own team to watch them. Coulson had requested his own team: May, Morse, MacKenzie, Quake. But Fury had refused. The Initiative was to be its own entity inside SHIELD with no outside ties or loyalties. 

So Coulson sought out the loners and the drifters. "Yessir. Sending their files now." He pressed a few keys and waited patiently.

"Rhodes?" Fury remarked with surprise, just like Coulson knew he would. "What was it you said about that guy?"

"That he had no creativity for a man so addicted to danger," Coulson answered smoothly. "He's also incredibly loyal to his teammates, according to the many glowing reports we received from the Air Force. James Rhodes isn't likely to turn traitor on us."

"Hm," Fury grunted, which was as near agreement Coulson was going to get from him. "Carter's a good choice. Lord knows nobody else in the agency will take her. Damn fools." Sharon Carter was among the most talented and dedicated of all SHIELD's agents, but despite its founder Margaret Carter being a woman SHIELD was still a bit of an old boy's club, and rumors of nepotism had hit Carter hard. She drifted from division to division, no head willing to keep her for long. Coulson privately thought they were all afraid of being shown up. "And Wilson. Bit young, but the team needs another flier. Can't leave it all to Stark. Looks good, Coulson. Get 'em together and gear 'em up. I've got a mission for them."

"Already, sir? But the others-" Rogers wasn't due to be defrosted for another few days, Banner hadn't spoken to anybody since his arrival, and Stark...Stark talked too much. Coulson hadn't built up the tolerance to the sheer amount of bullshit the man spewed to handle being around him for days on end.

"Not them. This is just a preliminary, to show the brass what this team is capable of," Fury cut him off impatiently. "Debrief will be when you arrive; sending coordinates now. I expect you there by 0900 hours tomorrow, agent. Fury out."

The line went dead and Coulson fought not to hang his head in his hands. Better him than somebody else, right? Somebody else might forget who these monsters were. Might feel pity for them, get soft, forget about the Thirty-Nine Tragedy or the Kirby Street Massacre. 

Not him. He would remember, and he would remind them. They weren't allowed to forget, or hope for a better life they didn't deserve. They had thrown themselves into the darkness.

There was no ladder out of that pit.

"Kaminsky," he called, pressing down on his intercom button. "Get me Agents Carter, Wilson, and Rhodes to my office, please."

"Yes, sir," his assistant answered.

"And call Agent Johnson for me."

There was a pause and then the line went dead. Not one minute later, Kaminsky was back. "Agents Carter and Rhodes are on their way. Wilson will be delayed by five minutes due to traffic...Your call to Agent Johnson was denied."

"Yeah," Coulson said to himself, alone in his dark office.

* * *

Jasper Sitwell was a cautious man by nature. Working as a double, sometimes triple-agent would do that to a person. He wrapped himself up in the secrets and lies he traded like currency to make himself near untouchable. He worked on the outside, watching the players move their pieces and always careful to never become one himself, but they all needed him anyway: HYDRA, SHIELD, and now, the Winter Soldier.

After the incident in Berlin, the Soldier had slunk into hiding in Croatia, away from the Panther's dark grasp and the ever increasing power of the United Nations. Now he waited for Sitwell's help in a dimly lit basement, the lone light bulb swinging directly over the Soldier's head and casting ominous shadows in every direction.

He watched the man methodically clean his numerous guns while one of the Ballerinas frisked him quickly and efficiently, her sisters watching from the corners, every one of them squaring their shoulders to keep both him and the Soldier within in their sights. They were all nervous, he realized, diagnosing the odd thrum of tension in the air. Their Captain was gone and the Winter Soldier, their savior, had been knocked off balance.

He had worked with the Soldier for many years, long enough to know more than enough information to sink the Soldier in an instant, and the Soldier knew it. Just as Jasper himself was at the Soldier's mercy. One call to Nicholas Fury or Gideon Malick and Jasper would be made, all his hard work burnt in an instant.

Jasper and the Soldier were two crickets on a string. If one moved, the other must move with him. So he cheerfully did this favor for the man, knowing one day it would be returned.

"Report," the Soldier demanded hoarsely. There was something manic in the way he brushed the oily cloth over the surface of the metal over and over again. His many guns lay in a perfect circle around him, burnished to a shine that hurt Jasper's eyes when he looked straight at them. At the Winter Soldier's signal, one of the Ballerinas approached him and took the gun from him, giving him a new one and placing the newly-cleaned one just outside the first circle, starting a brand new one. "Where is he?"

"The Raft. I've got multiple confirmations." He would be paying Grant Ward and Kaminsky handsomely for this. "He's in cryo."

A snap and the pistol broke apart in the Soldier's hands. The room went deathly quiet as the Ballerinas and Sitwell waited for his next move. Calmly and with deliberate care, Winter Soldier systematically broke the pistol apart further. "Idiot," he growled. "Always...getting into trouble. I will kill them all."

"Solid plan," Jasper remarked faintly. The Soldier seemed more out of sorts than usual. "But probably unnecessary."

The Winter Soldier rounded on him, grey eyes nearly glowing in the low light of the room. "Explain."

"I've heard from my sources that they're planning on using the Captain for their own goals. They have plans to wake him up soon, send him out on missions. The Raft is in the middle of the ocean and nearly impregnable. You might wait for SHIELD to set him free."

"He won't stay. He will come for me," the Soldier said, then he stared down at his hands as if he didn't recognize them as his own. "He always does."

As witness to more than one occasion in which the Captain revealed his pathological devotion to the Soldier, Sitwell agreed. And as someone who knew the Soldier's real identity, Sitwell could even understand why. However, SHIELD was one step ahead. "Not if he wants to keep his head." He gestured at the Ballerina at his side, she who had relieved him of the tablet in his pocket, and bade her carry it over to the Soldier. "What you're looking at is a bomb, about a centimeter long and meant to be placed in the neck. My sources report they just got a shipment yesterday, straight from Stark Industries."

"They use a wireless detonator,  _soldat,"_ the Ballerina remarked. "Who controls it?" she directed at Sitwell.

He shrugged. "Fury, maybe Coulson. But it's not flawless. The signal can't be changed from its factory settings."

"Then we find the factory," the Soldier growled. He gestured and another gun was brought to him while the tablet was taken to the other Ballerinas, the girls already planning their assault. "I need to contact him. You will help me."

"I can't get on the Raft," Sitwell reminded him. The Soldier's expression didn't change but he raised the gun in front of him, visibly clicking off the safety. "But I know someone who can. Fury is out on a mission in Russia right now with a retinue of agents. One of them will help, I assure you."

The Soldier nodded, holding out the gun to be placed in the next link of the circle and grasping the new one handed to him. "I will kill them all." It was a mantra Jasper had heard before from the man, the creed the Winter Soldier lived by. "I will kill them all." 

* * *

_FOSTER, JANE NELSON PhD_  
_AGE 29  
THE RAFT, PARTS UNKNOWN_

_Dr. Foster is one of the brightest women I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. She entered into school quite early and the common negative effects associate with accelerated social integration can be seen in her interactions with others. Dr. Foster is a solitary creature, prone to long periods of time where she is 'stuck inside her head.' How much of this has to do with the entity now sharing her mind with her remains to be seen._

_Dr. Foster is a curious woman, impatient, and quick to anger. From her behavior and the comments of her fiance and Dr. Erik Selvig [NOTE: FOR FURTHER INFORMATION READ 'ASSOCIATES' P. 10] this seems to stem from a lifetime of working in a field that isn't kind to her gender. She is incredibly strong-willed, so far showing remarkable restraint when it comes to dealing with Loki [NOTE: SEE 'HOST' P. 17]._

_Jane shows a remarkable hunger for knowledge which might be used to SHIELD's advantage. It is in my opinion that her greatest fault lies in her ambition to prove herself to others; Dr. Foster wants to be the first in her field regardless of her own safety, although risking others' might cause a negative reaction. She will not recognize subtle manipulation when used on her but the being in her head might. We must never forget who is listening in._

* * *

"Dr. Foster? Are you alright?"

Jane was scarcely able to hear the question over the whirr of the engines in the sleek, sophisticated jet SHIELD used for this mission. Director Fury had called it the Blackbird and claimed he'd 'borrowed' the technology from some well-meaning extremists. It was a marvel, completely undetectable by radar or sonar or even just looking up into the sky - _because it could turn invisible!_

She could scarcely believe all that she'd seen in the past few weeks since she absorbed Loki's consciousness into her mind and SHIELD took her in. Their technology was years, decades ahead of even the most sophisticated countries. If she could get her hands on even one of their labs for an hour, she just knew she could make leaps and bounds on her research. What would the boys back home think of her then, little Janey Foster with her head in the clouds, sucking up (and from the way they jeered, she knew they meant literally, the absolute douchbags) to Dr. Selvig to get a spot on his team. Poor Jane, the little orphan girl, not that smart, not that talented, just lucky because the right people felt sorry for her.

 _They are fools,_ Loki's thoughts bled over. She found herself nodding at that, fingers clenching. What did they know? Jane was smart, and talented, and she had Donald, the best man in the world who loved her when he could have anybody. Sure, she had been lucky, and she might have depended on the kindness of strangers, but she scratched and clawed her way to where she was.

_And now you are being rewarded._

She snorted, shoving Loki back down. He had been louder than ever since Fury had requested she used the powers he had given her - powers that everybody had, wait until she spilled that little detail to Darcy. Her friend would waste the next few months trying to curse her upstairs neighbors who really believed that 3 AM was the perfect time for BDSM - to help them on a little mission. To Russia. 

She found herself listening more and more, though. Loki knew all kinds of things, things she had yet to even dream of. And the things he had let slip whenever she and Erik had spoken of the Einstein-Rosen Bridge - the 'Bifrost' and the machine he had built for his brother that was just like it - the less she shoved him away. Fury had left the choice up to her after all, to decide when Loki would come out to play. As long as she kept control, everything would be fine. 

"Dr. Foster?" She looked up. Everyone on the jet was looking at her, but the plain, placid, slightly balding agent was the one who had spoken. Phillip Coulson, he had introduced himself as, face as blank as slate. The same face regarded her now, but she couldn't ignore the glimmer of suspicion in his eyes. In her hindbrain, Loki mentally stiffened. 

"I'm fine, thank you," she finally replied. "It just went so fast."

"You were great out there," another agent told her kindly. This one was blond, a woman, and terrifyingly efficient from the little Jane had seen. "Teleportation and illusions? Must be so useful."

"I...I don't know. That was the first time I really tried it," Jane answered honestly. "I had to let Loki guide me." It had been the greatest rush of her life, mentally separating herself so her body could let go and dissolve, atom by atom, only to rematerialize in an entirely new location, but she wasn't sure she was keen to repeat it. Her body hurt now, like she had exercised for too long.

"Loki?" Another asked her. Older, black, a bit rigid, but with a kind face. "That's the guy in your head? You sure we should be trusting him?"

"It's not about trust," a voice boomed, and they all snapped to attention when Fury emerged from the cockpit, scepter in hand. "It's about power. Isn't that right, Dr. Foster?"

Jane nodded, eyeing the glowing Mind Stone with trepidation that she was sure wasn't hers. She was grateful Fury had the scepter, for now, that if nothing else his order still stood and Loki had to obey her. She didn't want to imagine what would happen if Loki, in her body, had gotten to the scepter first. She had seen great flashes of his past when he first took control of her mind, and it was bathed in blood and resentment. Jane shuddered to think of what a thousand years of solitude had done to him.

 _He's using you,_ Loki hissed, but Jane wasn't stupid; she was completely aware. And maybe Loki needed to stop underestimating her. Who's to say she wasn't using Fury too? This mission alone showed that he needs her, and she couldn't be controlled by the scepter like Loki can. She wanted access to their tech and she wanted to study the artifact that she found in Scandinavia. None of this would be happening if it weren't for her and damn them all if they thought she was going to sit back, _again_ , and let somebody else, some man, steal this discovery from her. She had stumbled onto this opportunity by accident but she had been waiting for years for something like this. Let Fury have his control; he wouldn't have all of it. He couldn't control her.

In the back of her mind, Loki chuckled.

Whatever. Fury wouldn't say no to her. They couldn't keep her locked up forever and they couldn't just send her out on missions whenever they liked. All-powerful God-being in her head or not, Jane still had rights.

"So what are we doing with that?" she asked, pointing toward the large book in Fury's hands, covered in cracking bound leather. Fury had her sneak into the base to steal it and leave behind an illusion in its place that would fool the KGB for another week before it disappeared, and by that time any trace of SHIELD's trail would have gone cold. "I assume we didn't just do all this to troll the Russians."

"This book contains most of the KGB secrets of the modern age," Fury said, smiling grimly. "It's existence in intelligence community is not a secret, but getting to it was impossible, until now. Until we had you. I'm selling an idea to the Chiefs of Staff tomorrow. This," he hefts the book in his hand. "Is my closer. And you're going to help me, Dr. Foster."

The other remaining agent, the one with the large jetpack strapped to his back, whistled lowly. "You're really gonna do it, boss? It's been going around the mess for months, Director Fury collecting a bunch of criminals like Pokemon or something."

"This was a trial run, then," the female guessed. "Showing them what your team could do."

" _Our_ team," Coulson corrected, and the three agents whipped their heads around. "Wilson, Rhodes, Carter. Welcome to the Avengers Initiative."

Rhodes dropped his head in his hand. "Oh, fuck."

"Cheer up, lieutenant," Fury said with a smirk. "You're gonna change the world someday." Loki, buried deep, rang with delight and amusement and Jane found herself cold all over.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Rhodes repeated, and Jane couldn't help but agree.  _Use it to your advantage, Jane,_ Loki commanded. _Do not let yourself be thrust into obscurity by the ambitions of others._

_You have power. Now use it. Use it. **Use it.**_

* * *

"This is an interesting idea, Director Fury," one general said, glancing over the (very) abbreviated version of the Avengers Initiative Coulson had handed out at the beginning of the meeting. The general looks up with a smug smirk and a glance to the head of the table, giving the Vice President a look as if to invite the other man in on his amusement. "But not viable. These people are criminals. Murderers. This guy, Banner, he turns into a giant green rage monster. And you want us to put our safety in their hands?"

"No," Fury replied through gritted teeth. Somebody save him from ignorant, sanctimonious morons. "I want you to put it in mine. I've ensured that every single one of these people will be under my control, or that of their on-field handler Agent Coulson." The nano-bombs had been arrived from Stark Industries last week. A vindictive part of Fury couldn't wait to see if Tony Stark recognized the tech. "Gentlemen, you have seen what the Ultimates have unleashed upon this planet. The intelligence Ultron destroyed the country of Sokovia; it nearly destroyed the world. And even before that: how many people died when the Black Panther was chasing down the Winter Soldier and Captain America through Budapest in the middle of rush hour? When Scott Lang's equipment was stolen by Darren Cross?"

"The Ultimates are a problem, Director, no one is arguing that-" the Vice President said, resting a hand on top of the binder.

Fury shook his head. " They aren't problems, Mr. Vice President, they're _threats_. They are not on our side - their resistance to the Regulation Reforms has proved that. Nobody can deny that they've done some real good, but its come at a price that we can no longer pay. We are outclassed by these people _in every way_. The Ultimates, the Guardians, and the things out there that make people like them afraid," he says, gesturing at the ceiling and relishing in the way several of the men in the room went several shades paler. "The Avengers Initiative is filled with people just like them, but under our thumbs. Our control. Our say-so."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jane Foster shift uncomfortably in her chair, and Donald Blake beside her reached over to grip her hand tightly. Fury was unconcerned, mostly; Foster was a smart girl and they hadn't hid anything about their plans for her and her little headmate for her. SHIELD was the best place for her, the only people she could possibly turn to to keep Loki under control. If Jane wanted to retain control of her mind, she had to march to Fury's fiddle.

It might have bothered him once, to play people like they were puppets on a string, to help them tie nooses around their necks to hang themselves from, but Fury was too old for that kind of tenderness. He buried regret and compassion with all the agents he'd lost. All that was important to him now is that the good kept living, the evil kept dying, and anything in between made themselves useful while they could.

"They will be a special task force, sent in for the most dangerous and clandestine missions. Anything goes wrong, we throw them under the bus."

"And how do we know this will work?" General Ross asked, playing along. Fury gave him a thin smile.

"It already has," he said, and gestured for Jane Foster to come and stand beside him while he hefted the case carrying Loki's scepter up onto the table. "This is Dr. Jane Foster. As you'll recall from the notes, she has an entity named Loki trapped inside her head. Two days ago, Dr. Foster accompanied SHIELD on a mission that has been active for over twenty years. Dr. Foster, if you will?"

Jane looked to him, eyes wide with fear, and he nodded. She knew what to do. To convince these gentlemen, Jane herself wouldn't cut it. They had to see just how far Fury's reach stretch. So she closed her eyes and Fury grasped the sceptre tightly as she whispered under her breath  _"Loki."_

The difference between the two was nominal when Jane was wrestling for control, and Loki had almost gotten away with it the first time hiding behind her mannerisms and speech patterns. But when she let go, when she let Loki take center stage, the difference was clear. Her shoulders dropped and shifted backwards and her body's entire posture loosened and canted slightly to the side, her vowels lengthened when she talked and her speech was antiquated with traces of an accent.

And for the people who didn't study body posture for a living, the great horned tiara and green mist that materialized around her were probably a dead giveaway.

"Fury," Loki oozed, opening his eyes, greener and colder than Dr. Foster. "Esteemed leaders. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Fury looked out at the assembled men and women and grinned. Some of them were pressed so far back in their seats they were becoming one with the leather and the others had leaned forward, tensed as if ready to flee or attack.

Fury raised the sceptre, determinedly not looking at the glow of it as it flared to life, as if sensing he was about to give an order. "Loki. How about you show these fine men and women what we recovered?" Loki glanced at him, amusement and disdain tangling together in her gaze, and Fury brandished the scepter further. "Now, Loki."

Loki sighed, a bored expression that didn't fit Jane's face flitting across her features, and raised both hands, swirling them in a wide circle that filled with mist until she snapped her hands to the side and then brought them together, the Red State Book in her hands.

The Vice President was out of his chair in an instant. "Is that...?"

"It is," Loki crooned, and disappeared in a flash only to rematerialize beside Rodriguez's chair, dropping it in front of him. "From what I've gleaned, congratulations are in order. For both of us. Normally tribute would be given in the form of slaughtered livestock, but my dear host has advised me to 'get with the times.' I will, then, accept applause."

She didn't receive any, but there were more than a few fearful stares, which seemed to please her just the same. 

"Loki," Fury barked. "Bring Dr. Foster back."

"But, Director," Loki said, basking in the terror. Honestly, these people had seen the Scarlet Witch in action more than once, Loki was practically a sidestage magician compared to her. "I am having such fun. Jane's head is so frightfully crowded in the corners these days. So many things she is shoving into the dark spaces. Her fears, her hopes," and now those green eyes had locked on Fury, glowing ever so slightly. "And so many _questions_."

Fury couldn't help but smirk. Loki had played right into his hands. "You see, people," he said. "This is why we need a little control. In my hand is the object that originally bound Loki thousands of years ago. It still holds power over him today. You wanna see something cool?" He asked with a satisfied grin, and raised the scepter high. "Loki, you will go back into whatever dark hole Jane Foster threw you in and you will stay there. Now, be a good boy and _obey_."

Loki's pretty face twisted up in a snarl and she lurched forward only to suddenly grip her head and crumple over. "Jane!" Donald Blake cried, scurrying out of his chair and over to her. "Jane, it's okay, he has to go back now. Just send him back. Be strong, Jane." The body let loose a long, tortured moan and then stilled, clinging to Blake's chest.

"Don?" a small voice came. "Am I...am I me again?"

"Yes," the man whispered, and several in the room turned their heads away to give the couple privacy as Blake kissed Jane's forehead over and over, smoothing back her hair. "Everything's fine. You did so well."

"It hurt," she whispered, and her head rose. For a fleeting moment, large brown eyes caught Fury's, the white nearly swallowing the iris in her fear, and then he watched with a tugging sense of dread as they narrowed into slits and Jane straightened up. "I'm fine, Don. Thank you," she said hoarsely, not looking at her fiance.

"You did this?" Rodriguez asked her, hand on the RSB. "We've been after this for years and you, you and that...thing. You just waltzed in."

"The mission report in is the binder," Coulson supplied helpfully, rising to guide the couple back to their chairs. "Foster is capable of accessing Loki's magic even without letting him take over. They work quite well together."

"He's been very informative," Jane supplied, a bit uselessly in Fury's opinion.

"So," he spoke loudly, bringing the focus back to where it needed to be as he tucked the scepter back into his case and closed the lid with a decisive click. He turned back to the room at large and tapped one-handed on the Avengers Initiative binder. "When do we start?"

* * *

"Um, Fury, sir?" Jane asked, hating how meek she sounded. God, did that fuck with her head. She could still hear Loki speaking as if he was right beside her. He had tried to do something to the people in that room while he had control, something her body couldn't handle. Control them, maybe, or defy the scepter's power, more likely, considering how he raged at being forced back in the dark of her mind. Now she ached all over. Was this to be the rest of her life? Fury had told her he intended for her to be apart of the Initiative but he had made it seem it would only last until they could separate Loki from her. But the way he had looked at her in that meeting - eyes gleaming with triumph like he had won - he had used her. She wasn't a partner in any of this, she had no control. It wasn't fair!

"Dr. Foster," Fury answered in a bland tone, not looking up from the document the Vice President and all the generals had signed allowing the Avengers Initiative to proceed at full steam ahead. They had separated from Coulson at SHIELD's private airfield outside of DC, Coulson tasked by Fury to get 'the others' ready. Jane had taken a glance at the docket during the meeting; even thinking about it now she had to suppress a shiver. Iron Man, Captain America, Hawkeye, that maniac who killed his family and an entire street full of people a few years ago. The agents were one thing; Coulson was scarily blank but the others were nice enough and had been so helpful during the mission when she really didn't know what she was doing. But Captain America had murdered hundreds of people with his partner, the other two were known assassins, and Dr. Banner - she used to admire him, for God's sake, but the man was a monster.

"I'd like to examine the structure that I found in Scandinavia. It's a machine, and the science is advanced-"

"Loki tell you that?" Fury asked harshly, rounding on her with one raised eyebrow. Jane met his gaze head-on but it was for nothing; Fury just snorted and looked away. "I don't doubt your help would be invaluable but as long as you've got Act Three Hamlet relaxing in your brain this risk would be too great."

"I-" Jane began to protest, gripping Don's hand tighter.

"So where is she going now?" Don asked tightly.

Fury raised an eyebrow. "Back to the Triskelion, of course."

"Back to the glass room?"

"How long will I be there?" Jane asked before Don even finished. Fury glanced between both of them and sighed.

"I realize this is a lot to deal with, but for the safety of everyone I need you to be patient, Dr. Foster. While we have Loki under control for now, legends say he is incredibly clever. He could find the loop in the hole we've dug him at any minute. You're staying with us until we get you sorted out."

Jane glared at him, her fury only amplified by Loki's. "And when will that be?" Fury did not even deign this with a response, going back to his papers. "So I can't leave the Triskelion. I can't do any work. I can't do any research. What can I do, Fury?"

"You can help save the world, Doctor," Fury replied calmly. "You've been dealt a rough hand. My advice is to make the best of it." The car rolled to a stop outside the Triskelion and Fury nodded to both of them before climbing out. 

In the brief moment they had to themselves, Don pulled her to his side. "Don't - don't worry, okay? I know that's useless advice, but we'll find a way, you and me, right? We'll get you out of this."

"Don, you have to get me out of here," she whispered, burying her head in his shoulder.

Don shushed her gently, kissing her hair and linking their hands together. "I'll call Selvig, alright? I know they have him working on that machine. I'll tell him what's happening. He won't stand for it; he'll demand to have you on his team. You're not alone, Jane, don't let them isolate you, okay?"

"Okay," she nodded. She wasn't alone. She _wasn't_ alone.

_He's right, my dear. You're never alone._

She shoved Loki back hard, shoved her panic and fear back with him. "I love you," she told Don. He smiled, lines stark around his eyes - he was so tired lately, looking out for her - and kissed her gently. She didn't know what she'd do without him.

"I love you, too."

* * *

_GRANT, STEVEN ROGERS_  
_AGE 92 (NONCRYOTIC STATE 67, BIOLOGICALLY ~35)  
_ _THE RAFT, PARTS UNKNOWN_

_Because most of Rogers' psych eval was conducted after he had been put through intense interrogation, all results must be viewed under that lens._

_Rogers displays classic signs of PTSD and depression, as well as a level of dissociation. He is co-dependent on his partner Winter Soldier almost to the point of non-functionality when they are separated. Rogers has no care for his own well-being and very little in terms of a self-preservation instinct. He has had two recorded blackouts while under SHIELD observation, both accompanied by a sort of berserker rage._

_Rogers has little sense of self-worth and any he does is tied deeply into the work he does and the well-being of the Winter Soldier. Rogers is a man who needs a fight; in the absence of one he will seek or create one. Rogers has also demonstrated a certain level of delusion when it comes to his actions. He is utterly convinced that he is in the right and thrives on validation of his thoughts and actions. If he were any other man I would diagnose this as narcissism or egomania as Rogers but the man's history makes this much more complicated. Instead, I would suggest this is a coping mechanism to allow his brain to handle the loss of everything he has held dear and the further destruction he has caused._

_Conversely, he can be extraordinarily caring and charismatic. He is a natural leader with an unflagging will in the face of danger. Rogers has no strong desire to stay alive, which could prove problematic, but he will not die on his partner, even if they are separated. As long as that hope is alive, he is still useful._

* * *

_"_ Agent Coulson," Grant Ward greets his supervisor, saluting the man as he climbs out of the Blackbird, newly arrived to the Raft. He greets the other three agents who follow more informally.

No, he was not bitter he wasn't hand chosen by Coulson for this last mission, even though helping to steal the RSB could have resurrected his career after Daisy Johnson torpedoed it years ago. He didn't want to be one of Coulson's little groupies, hanging on his every word. They were rats, every one of them, especially Johnson. Trying to rat him out as HYDRA. Who the hell did she think she was?

Alright. Maybe she had been on to something. But Ward was going to change his ways, he swore it. Coulson had been so proud of him back then, and he had found a home with Daisy and Melinda and the two dweebs down in the labs. Until Daisy Johnson ruined everything. After that his star had fallen and after barely escaping suspicion, Grant had returned to the fold, once more HYDRA's loyal man. Fuck SHIELD. He didn't need their judgment or their approval. He didn't need Coulson. 

And he was all too happy to see the man fall.

"Ward," Coulson greeted coldly. "Are you on cool-down duty?"

"Yessir," Grant answered, determinedly not thinking about the days when the first thing Coulson would have said was 'at ease, son' with a smile on his face. "Was the mission a success?"

"That's classified, Agent," Coulson retorted, brushing past him. Rhodes, Wilson, and Carter followed suit, Wilson giving him a sympathetic smile. Grant snorted inwardly; maybe he'd tell Sitwell to ask the Soldier to spare Wilson when the assassin rained down hell on the Avengers Initiative.

Ward immediately headed into the plane, reaching for the compartment the Sitwell had told him the package was in. Sitwell had agents everywhere; it was nothing for the fixer to ask one of his Russian buddies to sneak a phone onto the Blackbird while SHIELD was out on their mission. Ward pulled out the burner and tucked it into his jacket, then helped his fellow agents with the cool-down routine before heading off to Sector 5 to check on Captain America.

They got the word to begin the de-freezing routine on Captain America yesterday, which means Fury must have really put on a show for the boys in charge. Ward had breathed a sigh of relief; he did not want to be the one to report to Sitwell that the Winter Soldier would have to find a new boyfriend. Now, the scientists waited patiently for Rogers to wake up from his ice nap.

Ward smiled brightly at Jemma Simmons as she absentmindedly clicked from report to report. "Waiting still not your style, Jem?" he asked, and she smiles faintly at him. He still hadn't convinced her that Daisy was wrong about him, but at least she no longer thought Daisy was completely right either.

"Not really. Why are you here, Grant?"

"Curiosity."

"I've heard that's a killer."

"Only if you're a cat. I'm more of a dog person," Ward replied with a winning smile. He leaned over the body on the table. "Isn't he supposed to have super healing or something? Why isn't he up, yet?"

Jemma shrugged, tapping on another screen. "No clue. By all accounts, he should be awake by now. Maybe he's waiting for a sign or something," she jokes.

"Is that so," Grant said faintly, leaning closer, feeling the weight of the burner phone slide against his chest inside his jacket. "Here's a sign for you, buddy," he whispered, so quiet he could barely hear himself. "The Winter Soldier says hello."

Under those still eyelids, Rogers' eyes flickered.

* * *

Day Three of her re-incarceration and it was clear to him that his fiancee was losing her mind. And not in the 'Jane you have been in the lab for a week please come home' kind of way that left her huffy and tired and adorable. She hadn't slept again. She was beginning to talk to thin air - to herself or Loki, either way, it disturbed him. "Jane, please," Donald said softly, watching her pace back and forth. 

"Don't, okay, I can't hear it again," she snapped, and then she sighed. "I know...I know this isn't your fault, I didn't mean to..."

"It's fine." They looked at each other then, separated by the glass. His fingers itched to touch her, but he could be content with just being able to see her if he couldn't have anything else. He'd live the rest of his life like this if he had too. He'd marry her right now, crazy God brain-sharing or not. "I hate this, too. It's barbaric."

"Then get me out," Jane pleaded, as she had for the past few hours. Don dropped his gaze, unwilling to see her face fall again when he refused her, and heard another sigh. "What did Erik say?"

"He's still trying to convince Fury."

"Did he say where he is?"

"Get this. He's in Area 51."

Jane pursed her lips, her gaze turning inwards. Was she thinking to herself or was she talking to that thing? She had frightened him, in that meeting, the voice she spoke with and the way she had used it, putting them all under her spell. Everybody but Fury, safe with his little stone. Loki had opened her mouth and every word that spilled, they had all clung to it like it was liquid gold.

"I don't even have to go anywhere, Don," she said. "I just want out for a bit. Can't you do that? We could go out, rent a room at the Hilton. Do you...God, I miss our bed."

"I know, sweetheart," he told her, reaching out to place his hand on the glass. "Me, too."

"So help me. I just need a break. I'll be good, I promise."

Don couldn't hear this. This wasn't how Jane was, this wasn't how she spoke. Jane never begged. He hated Fury all over again for what he had done to her. He hated himself even more, for taking her into that cave. If he hadn't - if he had been with her, just watched her, he could have warned her about the weak floor of the tunnel. How was she supposed to know, Jane never went hiking or spelunking? She had done it for him, and he hadn't protected her. "Don't promise me something like that, babe, you don't need to. You are good, okay? The best person I know."

Jane's entire face crumpled. "Then _help me_!"

"I-"

"Are you really going to choose them over me?" she cried. "Are you going to trust Fury's word over mine?! Don, please. I just - I just want to go outside."

"I don't want you to get hurt," he whispered to the floor.

She pressed closer to the glass, placing her hand right where his was on the glass, straining to touch him. "Look at me," she pleaded, and he did. Jane watched his face closely as if examining him for something. After a few moments her face shuttered and she closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

Don pressed even closer to the glass. "It's okay. I know how hard this is for you. I'm so proud of you."

Jane grimaced as if his words brought her pain and then she whispered something under her breath. Don wrinkled his brow, leaning so close his forehead was on the glass. He felt the green mist before he saw it, chilling the glass under his skin so sharply and quickly that he stumbled back. Jane's eyes looked out at him as she mouthed one last apology, before the sweet brown he loved so much was swallowed by green.

Loki stood before him, absent her golden adornments she had donned to impress the Chiefs of Staff but no less frightening. "Bring her back!" Don snarled, surging forward to pound his fist upon the glass.

"My," Loki purred. "But you'll be perfect. He'll be so pleased." Those green eyes glowed and behind Loki materialized a carbon copy illusion of Jane, pacing back and forth as she had been doing just moments ago. Loki winked at him. "So they don't suspect. Now, Donald, I know you to be a clever boy. That panel over there, it control my freedom. Be good and walk towards it."

Don wanted to snarl and rage but when he opened his mouth all that came out was a firm "Yes." His feet turned his body against his will and carried him towards the panel, where Loki walked him through the override sequence for the cell she was contained in. The door slid open with a hiss and she emerged, a triumphant smile on her face. Don wanted to scream. This wasn't his love. This was a monster wearing her skin.

"Isn't that better?" Loki asked, making a show of stretching her limbs before crossing over to Don. She drew him close to her, strength that wasn't Jane's behind her movements, and the screaming in Don's head only grew louder. A whimper escaped him and Loki shushed him condescendingly, stroking his face. "Hush now, lover. There's no need to fret. Soon all will be as it should. What is it that Fury keeps saying? Ah, yes. You, Donald Blake, are going to save the world."

The green mist that always seemed to swirl around Loki exploded higher and wider into the air, cloaking them, creeping into Don's lungs and blinding his eyes. He felt a great pull and the feeling of rushing wind and then it was over, the green mist dissipating, and the containment cell was gone. Instead they were in a large concrete bunker, and Erik Selvig was staring wide-eyed at them, standing in front of a few quivering lab assistants.

"Jane, what are you doing-" Erik began, fear making his accent even thicker, and then his eyes widened and he stepped back, taking the others with him. "Loki. What have you done?"

"Only what Jane allowed me to," Loki simpered. "Wasn't that the deal?" Don stiffened in her arms. Jane - she couldn't have done this - she was stressed, she wasn't thinking straight and she was desperate. She had lost control. She would never have willingly chosen this. Loki looked up at him and smiled deviously. "Oh, yes, she did. She hungered. I offered a banquet." 

She gestured outwards and Don blanched when he saw the structure that had started all of this. The huge dome with the pronged spike sticking out of the top, with two pillars on either side. The one containing Loki's scepter was empty, but Thor's hammer still sat on its own. 

Loki walked towards the structure, dragging Don with them, and when Erik made a move to stop them a dagger appeared out of nowhere in her hand. She barely even had to glance to the side before she launched it at one of the assistants, catching him in the gut. He went down with a cry and the others swarmed him while Erik and Don stared at Loki in horror. "Make another false step," she said, leaving the threat unfinished. Erik swallowed hard, grief beginning to etch lines in his face as Don watched, and nodded. "You've made much progress, Selvig. I can feel the energy from here. But you're missing something, aren't you?"

"Yes," Erik said, making the one word sound as if it had been dragged out of him.

"I am here to help," Loki said, her tone that of a benevolent god offering a boon. "But in exchange, I need tribute."

"Tribute?" Don managed to grit out. Loki smiled at him, Jane's smile gone sideways and wrong, and led him over to Thor's hammer. "You still waiting for that applause."

The sorceress snorted. "The adulation of mortals never sustained me before. I wanted more. Jane and I are so alike that way. We always want more. Donald, my beloved. Touch the hammer."

"Don't!" Selvig cried, surging forward even as Loki whirled on his, another dagger in hand. "Donald, you mustn't do this. We don't know what that thing can do, but you see what Loki's scepter did to Jane. Donald, stay back!"

He wanted to. He knew, in his heart, that there was something dreadful waiting for him if he put his hands on that hammer. He willed his feet to stay glued to the floor, but Loki smiled wider than she ever had. It was grotesque, nearly splitting Jane's beautiful face in two. "Oh, you poor fools. They called me god here, and do you know why? Because for me you will always kneel. Donald. If you please."

He took a step forward. And then another.

Maybe he would end up like Jane. Maybe he would be okay, the both of them would. He just had to stay strong, and not let whatever was in the hammer win. They would get through this. Jane would wrestle control back from Loki and they would go back to Fury, they would get sorted out.

He and Jane were going to get a happy ending. Anything else was unthinkable. They were going to get married, and finished their degrees and win Nobels and adopt a few children and they were going to be so happy they were going to be so happy sohappysohappyhappy _Janeplease_ -

His hand closed around the metal.

_I love you so much._

* * *

Thor did not know where he was.

He did not know who he was.

This frame he rested in was too small for him. He expected the skin to split as he moved, clambering back to his feet. "Hvar er ég?" he rumbled. He could hear someone crying softly, another gulping in deep, wet breaths. Blood was in the air. Thor felt his blood begin to stir.

Beside him was his brother's Bifrost. Then...they had been awakened? They were to go home. Loki's pedestal still stood, but his scepter was gone. Someone had come for them, at last. Thor knew they would not be abandoned forever. Perhaps Father-

"Donald?" a small voice asked, and Thor turned.

A beautiful creature stood staring at him, her brown-green eyes wide and wet and large in her pale face.  _I love you so much,_ Thor found himself thinking, but the thought was a shade, fading fast.

"Don? It's me, it's Jane, I took it back, I pushed him back, I'm so sorry," the woman cried, while a tall, older man consoled her, moving so that she was shielded from him. Thor found he didn't like the sight of her tears. She was supposed to be happy. Whatever happened this woman, this Jane, was meant to be happy.

_I love you so much._

The thought - the voice - died, and Thor's mind felt lighter, clearer, like the skies of summer above his home.

This was not his home. He did not know where he was.

But he knew who he was.

"I am Thor, son of Asgard, Thunder Made Flesh and King of Men," he boomed, fingers gripping tight over the handle of hammer that was not there even as he dropped to one knee. "You have awakened me mortal, and so I owe you a debt. Name it, and it is yours. I ask only this," and he raised his eyes to meet this lady Jane's, feeling lightning crackling under his fingers but not calling upon it. _"Where is my brother?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more psych evals in the next chapter (who is writing those? Not a professional!) and we'll get to see the actual team again. Things are heatin' up and Fury should watch his back.
> 
> As for Loki's powers I kinda took creative liberty with them. Hypnosis honestly cannot be THAT hard for a dude who can create illusions of himself.
> 
> Find me at my [ tumblaaaa.](http://aslightstep.tumblr.com/)


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